Settling Old Debts
by Minishini
Summary: Before Anders can confront Orsino and Meredith at Hawke's side, he must first confront the shadows of his past in the form of one very angry Grey Warden. DA:AxDA2 Spoilers galore.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Settling Old Debts  
>Chapter: 13  
>Rating: T for mature content.<br>Chapter Warnings: None of my usual fare. Maybe some cursing, I can't really remember.  
>AN: I'm outing myself to the Dragonage Kink Meme over at Livejournal. I got hooked to the blasted thing reading another author's stuff on FFnet and had to mosey over to LJ to see what was up. This is a response to the promt: " After Anders'... unusual departure from the wardens as seen in the romance thread on the BSN, I'd love to see them meeting again a few years down the line and it to be angsty and tragic and all that fun stuff. " I'm posting it here because it's short, sweet, and to the point and LJ won't let me post the chapters as I have intended them to be read.

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><p>Anders was extra paranoid as he slipped among the shadows of Lowtown. His head was like an owl's swiveling on a pivot to try and watch each side of him as he hurried along his path. No eyes were ever on him, no shadows slipped behind his to follow, and yet still the paranoia would not leave him. No, not while the culmination of his manifesto was so nigh at hand. As soon as Hawke returned from taking care of extraneous loose ends, there was only one place they would be going: the Chantry.<p>

Where the bomb was set and waiting.

But he had his own loose ends to take care of before the grand climax of the plot. The missive that had been pinned to his clinic door this morning had been short, sweet, and to the point:

"_Ser Pounce-A-Lot will be waiting at the Hanged Man."_

Ser Pounce-A-Lot, Anders scoffed as he skirted around a murky looking puddle that smelled much like urine. There were only a handful of people in all of the Free Marches that knew of his old pet, and they were few and far between. At first, he had thought that maybe Hawke had spilled the tale of Anders' cat with Varric, and that Isabella had to give him crap about it. But when those two had escorted Hawke this afternoon…

If not Hawke, or Varric or Isabella or any of the others, who then would summon him? And the answer was plainly clear: the Grey Wardens who made him get rid of Ser Pounce-A-Lot. And the Wardens looking for Anders was never a good thing. He did _not_ need this drama in his life right now, not when he was about to blow the Chantry sky-high.

The Hanged Man was busy as always as he stepped out of the shadows, pulling his coat tighter around him as he strode boldly down the street. He had lived in Kirkwall for well over six years, and had been a regular patron of the shabby inn since day one. Surprising, he thought as he pushed through the creaky door and into the bustle of the common room, that the Templars simply hadn't raided the place by now to catch him.

"Oi, surprise seeing you here tonight. Thought Hawke had some business for you lot?" Groff, the bartender, barked above the din of the crowd as Anders made his way to the bar.

"They're off taking care of some things before the main event," Anders smiled warmly as he leaned against the counter. "I figure I need a drink or two before I get myself killed tonight."

Gorff snorted with a short laugh before plunking a heavy wooden stein on the counter. Ale sloshed over the brim, spilling onto the stained wood. "How many times do ye say that, and still ye show up the next time."

With a wry smile, Anders took a hearty swallow from the mug before slapping down a couple silvers in its place. "Too many to count. Say, I've been expecting a friend to show up in town for a while now. Goes by the name of Ser Pounce-A-Lot?"

At that, the bartender stilled and gave him a wary, sideways glance. "So you're who they're expecting, eh?"

"They? How many of them?" Anders narrowed his eyes, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as all his alarm bells went off. He should leave, he told himself. Just turn around and walk right at the door, and no one would be the wiser.

Gorff shrugged. "Two that I've seen. Been a bloke or two sneaking down to see 'em, but I don't know if they're together or just local contacts reporting in."

"Wardens?"

The bartender nodded silently. "Surprised Varric or Isabella didn't say anything to Hawke. The whole lot arrived last night, about ten in the evening. Covered in more shit and grime than you lot come in with."

Cursing, Anders tried to hide his face in his ale as he glanced around the common room. No one was looking his way, and nothing seemed off. There was the usual crew of gamblers in the corners, drinking and playing away their money. Serving girls were laughing and flashing their goods to prospective clients. Everyone was laughing and telling stories.

Gorff slapped a rusty key on the counter top and slid it towards Anders. "Back room, after Varric's. There's a door in the floor leading to the cellar."

"If I don't come out, make sure Hawke knows what happened," Anders muttered before downing the rest of his liquid courage. He would need what little comfort it supplied him to confront the ghosts of his pasts that awaited him.

No one in the common room seemed to notice the look of utter dread on his face as he crossed the room, slipping between scattered chairs and around gambling tables. He ignored any friendly calls cast his way, or offers to join games of Diamondback or dice. Any other day, he might have accepted just to make the Wardens wait longer on him. But Hawke would be done any moment, and he had a schedule to keep if he wanted his big finale to go off right.

He took the stairs two at a time to the back of the inn, and the din practically died to a muffled murmur as he strode down hall. His boots clipped softly on the hard wood floor, heels hitting first before the pads of his toes struck a hollow sound. It was quiet back here, with Varric's usual corner of the world abandoned since the dwarf wasn't in residence. No bard ever took his place to entertain the evening's guests.

Some woman was moaning in a room he passed, coloring Anders' cheeks red. At least someone was having a good night, he thought as he slipped by the last of the inn's rooms. The storage door he stopped in front of was plain and old, the lock just as rusted as the key in his hand. But the mechanism released as he turned the key in the door, and the old iron hinges creaked as he opened it warily.

Nothing jumped out of the darkness to assault him.

Scowling, Anders stared at the little door in the floor. The slide bolt was unlocked, and light filtered around the edges of the little thing. But no voices drifted up, no movement of cloth rustling or feet rushing to take up ambush positions.

With a deep breath he grabbed his staff from its clip on his back and gathered the magic that flowed through his veins. Running through the words and weaves in his head that would throw up his magical barriers in a heartbeat, Anders flipped the door open with the toe of his boot and descended the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Settling Old Debts  
>Chapter: 23  
>Chapter Warnings: Uh just cursing I think. It's 2AM. Too sleepy to remember what I wrote, really.<br>A/N: I'm outing myself to the Dragonage Kink Meme over at Livejournal. I got hooked to the blasted thing reading another author's stuff on FFnet and had to mosey over to LJ to see what was up. This is a response to the promt: " After Anders'... unusual departure from the wardens as seen in the romance thread on the BSN, I'd love to see them meeting again a few years down the line and it to be angsty and tragic and all that fun stuff. " I'm posting it here because it's short, sweet, and to the point and LJ won't let me post the chapters as I have intended them to be read.  
>Disclaimer I forgot on the first chapter: Dragon Age belongs to Bioware. I make no money off of this. Just entertainment.<p>

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><p>"You sure took your time," a familiar voice growled in the dim light of the cellar.<p>

Anders let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he glared at the pallid Warden. "I should have known you wouldn't die in the Deep Roads, Nathaniel."

"Nor you, apparently," Nathaniel Howe growled low in his throat as he stood from the wall. "I'm surprised you were still in Kirkwall. I thought for sure you would have betrayed Hawke by now, as you betrayed us."

Anders had been about to open his mouth to argue back when an equally familiar voice spoke up, "Enough. The both of you," it snapped, strong and commanding and full of no-bullshit attitude.

Feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise again in paranoia, Anders turned slowly from the black-haired Grey Warden to address the rest of the cellar. And sure enough, there she was: the Hero of Ferelden.

"We did not come here to argue," the Warden continued, her eyes still focused on the cards in her hand. Another rogue sat across from her—a dark elf that Anders wasn't all too surprised to see.

"And Zevran is here, too? Well it's a royal party, isn't it," he replied with his usual dose of sarcasm.

"Really? You thought that Nathaniel and I would both be in Kirkwall and _not_ say anything about you to our lovely Warden?" one of the elf's eyebrows lifted in a curious gesture before he laid his hand of cards out on the table. The Warden let out a slew of curses as the Crow collected the pile of coins between them, his eyes never leaving Anders as he did.

The cellar door slammed shut behind him and Anders jumped, surprised to see that Nathaniel had somehow snuck behind him to close the sodding thing. There went his only escape route. "So what do I owe the pleasure? Need a tour guide to the fair city of Kirkwall? Perhaps a healing or two?"

The Warden put down her cards, suddenly grave and solemn as she looked up at Anders. He felt his breath leave his lungs as those bright, unnerving green eyes of hers stared at him. Her flaming red hair was pulled back out of her face into a tight ponytail, exposing the Dalish clan tattoos on her hard face. The years had been kind to the Warden—as they were to all elves—but the trials she had faced in Ferelden and in rebuilding the Grey Wardens was starting to take its toll.

She looked tired. So, so tired.

"Do you know how much trouble you have been to protect from the order?" she started slowly, her voice low and deceivingly unthreatening. But Anders knew better. He had seen her interrogate his fair share of law-breakers and ne'er-do-wells to be deceived. There was a quiet threat in her voice, an undertone that had his hackles rising and his magic tingling in his fingertips.

"I suppose they've still got their panties in a twist, eh?" Anders snipped.

And then she did it: she scowled. Those delicate eyebrows of hers drew together over her eyes, her full lips going taught with all her disapproval. It was like being five all over again and having his mother looming over him, telling him she was disappointed in him. It was the worst feeling in the world. "I'm being serious, Anders."

And that one sentence was enough to deflate his sarcastic asshole defenses. He hadn't traveled with her terribly long, before he came to the Free Marches. But the whole time he had accompanied her, he had been a snarky little arse ready and willing for a fun time. And she had always played along, her elven playfulness making the two of them a rambunctious duo to be dealt with. But seeing her now, after all these years…there were no mischievous smiles to be shared.

"Four deserters were executed after you left," she continued, leaning back in her chair in a show of nonchalance. That act didn't fool him, either—her sword was at her hip, and he knew how fast she could draw the thing and have it at his throat. "And unrest stirs still in fortresses across Thedas."

"Did you really expect me to stay, _Hero_?" he sneered, anger turning his typically rugged good looks ugly. "What you forced upon me all those years ago was hardly any better than the option of returning to the Circle!"

"They would have _killed_ you, Anders—"

"And you sentenced me to death the moment I drank that Maker's cursed blood!" he shouted, his power rising to send tiny crackles of lightning between his fingers. Zevran had a dagger in his hand in an instant, his wary eyes tracking Anders' hands in case the little bolts decided to turn into balls of electrifying death.

But there was no need, as the Warden was on her feet and across the sparse distance in a few fell steps. She shoved Anders—_hard_—and pinned him to the wall as she snarled in his face. "Better to die in the Deep Roads than at the mercy of the Templars, simply because you think yourself above the law."

"You forced me from servitude to the Circle to servitude of the Wardens, Mahariel," he growled back at her. "Either option offered ended with me being chained by some faction I didn't believe in! Being a Warden is no worse than being made Tranquil!"

She scoffed at him and pounded a gauntleted fist into the stone wall behind him. "Tranquil? _ Tranquil?_ How can you even compare the two, Anders? Making you a Warden not only saved you from the Circle, but from the fate you mages fear worse than death!"

"And I'd rather be saved from both!" he retorted. "Oh, yes, I may have been safe from the Circle and Templars while under your command, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't forced into an early grave that could have been entirely avoided if you had simply _let me run_."

"I can't even believe you're trying to blame this on me!" she shouted, turning away from him with her fury. She stormed a few steps off, before turning sharply on her heel to face him again. "I can't believe that you even left," she replied, much quieter.

Anders felt his heart break a little as he looked at her, the fury dying in his breast as quickly as it had come on. There was no avoiding the hurt in her voice—or in her eyes. It was there for the world to see, as plain as day and displayed right along with the heart on her sleeve. "Mahariel, I—"

She shook her head. "What's done is done, Anders," she grumped, her face turning hard once again. "You're a Warden whether you like it or not and there are no undoing the transgressions you or I played against each other."

He stood up straight from the wall and planted his staff in the dirt by his foot. Leaning on it for support, he simply waited.

"I'm here," she began slowly, looking back to her two rogue companions for a brief moment before continuing, "because I need you, Anders. I understand that you have commitments to your friend, Hawke, and that you and I may not be colleagues any longer, but… There are things going on that I cannot face alone, and not without a crew of reliable companions at my side."

Nathaniel snorted in derision. "Not that he has been all that reliable…"

Both the Warden and Anders chose to ignore his quip. "Return with us when your business here is through. And when all is said and done," she paused to take a deep breath, releasing it with a huge sigh. "When it is over, I will annul any vows or commitments you have made to the Grey Wardens. You will be rid of us, and not have any worry to fear repercussions."

Anders smiled grimly. "You are too late for that, Mahariel."

"Would you not like to have the Wardens off your trail, Anders?" she asked quizzically, genuine curiosity in her voice. "You have been hiding for a long time. But we know where you are now, and it will be hard to shake the tail we have pinned to you."

"Love, in a few hours Hawke will have me dragged between the warring factions of Kirkwall and, I'm sorry to say, the Wardens will be the least of my concern," he admitted truthfully.

"Then leave with us now," she insisted, he green eyes pleading as she stepped towards him again, this time out of desperation rather than fury. "Alistair has given me a ship, it's waiting at the docks ready to sail in a moment's notice—"

He shook his head, cutting her off short with a defiant hand held up to silence her. "What's going on in Kirkwall tonight is bigger than whatever you have to offer me, Mahariel," he spoke softly, gently. He looked at her with equally pleading eyes, hoping that she would understand. She _had_ to understand. "We're talking about a conflict between the Circle and the Templars. Mage freedom versus Chantry tyranny. You _know_ how much this means to me."

He watched her heart break in her eyes. "Anders, involve yourself tonight and there will be no freedom from any of the chains that weigh you down."

"I would rather fight them all than bear the weight of even one chain, dove," he replied simply.

"So you choose to get yourself killed fighting Templars and the Chantry rather than get yourself killed fighting some great, looming evil threatening to destroy all of creation again?" Nathaniel asked blandly.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Zevran chimed in.

"Oh the both of you can just shove it," Anders snapped. "And why don't you wait upstairs while Mahariel and I finish our little debate?"

"There is nothing left to finish, Anders," the elven Warden replied quietly. She gave him one good look over before shaking her head sadly. "I will give you twenty-four hours head start, Anders. After that, we will dog you until you are returned to the order, do you understand?"

"I doubt you will have to do even that," he replied gravely.

The Warden's eyes narrowed sharply as all her senses went on high alert. With a wary look, she turned to eye him out of the corner of her eye. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, returning his staff to the clip on his back. "Are we done here, Mahariel? Hawke will be looking for me."

She was outright scowling now as she watched him cross to Nathaniel, who still stood guard at the base of the stairs. "Whatever trouble you're getting yourself in to now, Anders, make sure you watch your back."

He gave her a soft smile over his shoulder as he took in one last look at her. She was a beautiful woman, to be sure. Tall, slender, but corded with lean muscle that her armor hid. She was tough, rough, wild, and fierce. Everything an elven warrior was and could be, compacted into one hero that saved the world. She had been a good friend and companion, and honorable ally that he had never wanted to abandon.

"It's not my back I'm worried about, sweet heart," he laughed softly, watching the worry in her face. He loved that look, and hated it, all because of what it meant: another loved one that cared for him that he was defying—yet again. "Take care, Mahariel."

She nodded at him. "Twenty-four hours, Anders. Get gone, fast."

"I'm sure I'll be long gone by then," he murmured and slipped past Nathaniel, his boots heavy on the hollow wooden stairs.

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><p>AN:

I'll be utterly honest: I've never finished Dragon Age: Awakening. I think I had just finished getting Nathaniel and Justice and lost interest. So I don't really know what all happened. I suppose I'll go play it now in order to write better fanfiction...lawl.

Also, the Warden I wrote here is my favorite one that I played in DA:O, being a female Dalish warrior. For those of you that don't remember, the cannon surname the game gives Dalish elves is Mahariel, hence why I refer to her as that. I didn't give her a first name, mostly because I don't remember the default first name.

You'll also note that I left out any reference to Hawke's gender. I'm leaving it that way, since this fix has nothing to do with him/her.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Settling Old Debts  
>Chapter: 33  
>Chapter Warnings: I think cursing. Some suggestive themes, but that's what you should come to expect from Zevran.<br>A/N: Short, sweet, and to the point.

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><p>There were tears in the Warden's eyes as she watched from her hidden perch on the rooftops of Kirkwall. Zevran was at her side, a consoling hand on her shoulder as the two of them watched the drama bellow.<p>

"I should have dragged him back with us," she whispered under her breath. Bellow their perch, fires burned from the explosion that leveled the Chantry. First Enchanter Orsino and Knight Commander Meredith were nearly at each other's throats. And a Chantry brother kneeled in the dust, his agony nearly palpable all the way up here. Anders sat on a crate, too proud and stupid to look at the baffled looks his companions were giving him.

"This is not your fault, Mahariel," Zevran murmured quietly in her ear. His hand tried to stray from her shoulder to play with her hair, but she nudged him away. Sighing, the tanned elf set back on his haunches. "Do not ever think that anything he has done is your fault."

"I could have prevented this, Zevran," she gestured angrily to the smoldering ruins of the Chantry. Grand Cleric Elthina had been in that wrecked church, with who knew how many brothers and sisters of the Chant and their loyal flock…

"Somehow, I do not doubt that. But the fact that it happened is still not your fault," he shrugged, his eyes watching her instead of the drama bellow.

"It is my fault because I could have dragged that daft mage back with us and he would have never been here to blow up the _Chantry_!" her voice cracked with emotion, and Zevran pretended not to notice the tears welling in her eyes. "How _could_ he, Zev? I knew him better than his own mother. I never would have thought him capable…"

"Men change with time," he spoke softly, interest in her flexible body temporarily fleeing his thoughts as he turned and sat against the low wall they hid behind. His side was pressed against hers, warm, strong, and reassuring. "Did you honestly know the man you met with earlier? Or the memory of him?"

Still she shook her head in denial. "This was preventable."

"And unnecessary. You did not choose to allow this to happen. Anders chose to do it himself."

"I could have stopped him—"

"And he would have simply done it another time, in another city, in a different situation. Radicals like that, my beautiful Warden, do not ever back from their plans," he spoke calmly yet confidently, pressing the truth of his words into her even as she refused to listen. "He is a terrorist with faith and conviction that what he has done was the right thing, and the only way to achieve the end goals he sought. Stopping him now would have only delayed the inevitable."

"I refuse to believe that, Zev," she coughed, turning her head from him so he could no longer see his eyes.

With a sigh, he let the silence she forced between them hang heavy. Instead he stared at a speck of dirt on the building in front of him, his sensitive elven ears listening to the raised voices bellow. There was a lot of arguing, a lot of heated debate and tension that had one ally pitted against another. And that ridiculously attractive Hawke character pinging back and forth and somehow miraculously caught up in the middle of it all.

Zevran knew the moment was coming. It was inevitable, ever since the first rumbling shook the foundation of the Chantry. When Anders had allowed that bomb to go off, he had sealed his fate. "We should go, Mahariel," he murmured to her.

But she ignored him, as he knew she would. Still, no one could say that he did not try to protect her as Hawke's dagger found its mark deep in Anders' chest.

The Warden let out a sob as she ducked under the rim of the parapet, shielding her eyes from the drama. Zevran did not console her now as she cried, mourning the loss of a man she once called a friend. She was not the kind of woman that would appreciate it at this point. She was the kind of woman that needed to get her mourning done and out of the way with without empty soothing words that only served to rub salt in the wounds. He would do as he had always done for her: simply be there.

"Stupid bloody mage," she cursed between her sobs. "Stupid self-righteous bastard. Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

"I will not argue with you on that," Zevran smiled slightly.

After a long while, Mahariel finally took a deep, shuddering breath that seemed to steel her resolve. She turned to face Zevran, her eyes red and puffy and still shedding tears. But gone was the fragile woman, and in its place a very angry, very pissed off elven warrior. "The corruption in Kirkwall ends tonight, Zevran. We help Hawke rid this city of an inept First Enchanter and a mad Knight Commander."

He nodded his head in a slight bow. "As you wish, my lady."

"Whichever side Hawke chooses to support, both are wrong and neither can live. The system has failed in Kirkwall, and it must be rebuilt from the ground up," she continued, rising slowly to her feet and glaring down at the burning courtyard bellow. "You know what must be done."

"Will you join in the fighting?" he asked as he rose to her side.

A grim grin spread across her face. "Of course. I think I'll find a Templar uniform to steal. It wouldn't do to have the Grey Wardens mixed up in this affair, would it?"

"Nor the Hero of Ferelden. Who knows what blow back would hit that oaf Alistair if you were to get involved," he grinned back.

She nodded in agreement, before her grin suddenly faded and she was solemn all over again. "We'll bury Anders after this ordeal is settled."

He shrugged. "I suppose even he deserves a proper burial, despite being a traitor and all."

She smacked him soundly in the gut. "Don't poke at the dead, Zevran. It is beneath you."

"I would hope not!" he scoffed. "The only bodies I want beneath mine are alive and well, thank you very much."

Mahariel watched the fires burn bellow her, her green eyes focused on the shadowed form of a crumpled mage laying in the dust. When a low mewling rose from the confines of her back pack, she let out a soft sigh and turned away from the sight bellow. "Sorry, Ser Pounce-A-Lot the second," she murmured and fished the tiny ball of fur out of the confines of her pack. Smiling sadly at the scrappy little kitten, Mahariel set the creature down on her shoulder, where it snuggled between her neck and her collar. Just as Anders' old cat used to do with him. "You'll have to settle for a dog-loving elf as your partner."

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><p>AN:

My second favorite aspect of DA2 is the final battle with Meredith. If you haven't noticed, Zevran fights beside you if you saved him and helped him out with the Crows. I thought that had to be the coolest thing in the world, other than Isabela and Aveline almost getting into a cat fight in the middle of Aveline's companion quest (coolest. thing. ever.).


End file.
